


itch - or y'know. don't

by Nekoyama



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: I Was Drunk When I Wrote This, Insecurity, Insinuations, Medical Conditions, Not Really A Happy Ending, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Acceptance, Skin Conditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 19:38:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7696810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nekoyama/pseuds/Nekoyama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's 15 years old. It's 2:30 in the morning and he's sitting in his bathroom clawing at his arms like a madman. It had been raining - he hadn't been wearing a jacket. He'd gone for a shower and hadn't dried his skin properly and now he's scratching and scratching and scratching. His short nails don't do much damage other than leave ugly red welts on his arms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	itch - or y'know. don't

**Author's Note:**

> i only have so much kopparberg left

It starts as nothing but a small tickle on the back of his hand.

Kageyama let go of his mum's hand briefly and absentmindedly scratched at his hand before, quite suddenly too, his mum was there, batting his hand away.

"Don't scratch, it's rude," His mum told him.

Kageyama was five years old and they were in a shop. It wasn't like he had done anything wrong but when he looks down at his hand, the faint patch of red skin was worse. There were flecks of blood on his hand and skin stuck sickeningly underneath his nails. The tips of his fingers were red and irritated. Kageyama looked up at his mum who shook her head sadly.

"Look at what you did to yourself Tobio."

The five year old swallows back tears at his mum's obvious annoyance. But the tickle was still there, even as his mum took his hand to continue taking him around the shop. But at least with his mum holding hid hand - the tickle seemed to go away for a while.

It didn't stay that way though because it always came back - no matter if he was on his own, if he was with somebody, if he was inside or outside. The tickle always came back.

Often stronger than it had been before

 

* * *

 

It starts as a couple of stares from the students in his class.

"What's wrong with his face?"

"Why is his arm all red?"

Kageyama tries to fold in on himself - ignoring the words. They were just kids - kids who didn't know any better. Didn't know what they hadn't been told or hadn't been taught. They didn't know medical knowledge and didn't know when to shut their mouths.

Nobody wanted to hold his hand to walk into the school at the beginning of the day or when they walked to the hall for assemblies or during partnered activites in gym class. Because everybody in the class knew that Kageyama Tobio's hands felt weird, looked weird. It matched his face and the insides of his arm.

"It looks so gross."

He didn't scratch in school - or at least tried not to. Sometimes though; he couldn't help it and sitting in the back of the class he'll scratch at the patch behind his knee or on his cheek - just to satisfy an urge and then everything will be okay for the rest of the day.

Sometimes it doesn't quite work like that. Especially when it rains - he can feel his clothing sticking to him still despite the wet jacket having been put away, drip drying with the rest of the classes. But he can still feel it - can see how red his skin is. Around his elbows. He tried to ignore it, he really does . . . but then again. He rolls up his shirt sleeve and leans the crease of his elbow against the underside of the desk and begins to rub it ever so slightly.

And it helps.

The itch begins to go away . . .

"What are you doing?"

Kageyama stops - the feeling of hundred of eyes baring down on him despite the fact that it was only two. The girl next to him - a look of disgusted confusion written on her face and he hears it:

"Freak."

He looks away from the girl - a feeling of embarrassment creeping over him and he rolls down his sleeve. He knows his skin his red, bleeding and won't stop itching. Her look make him feel like a freak.

No wonder nobody wants to hold his hand.

 

* * *

 

It starts as stupid flare ups at stupid times which leads to awkward questions.

He's 15 years old. It's 2:30 in the morning and he's sitting in his bathroom clawing at his arms like a madman. It had been raining - he hadn't been wearing a jacket. He'd gone for a shower and hadn't dried his skin properly and now he's scratching and scratching and scratching. His short nails don't do much damage other than leave ugly red welts on his arms.

It's no longer on his face or on his legs. Just on his hands and the creases of his elbow and if it doesn't half itch. It makes him feel like shit. He goes to school the next day, reluctant to wear his t-shirt, wanting to hide the damage he had done that night. He kept his jumper sleeves rolled down, even during practise when his face was red and sweat was dripping off him.

He couldn't take it.

Kageyama took the jumper off and had to face what he had done. The marks were still red, still cut in places and a little bloody looking as the healed - he caught both Ukai and Takeda's eyes before looking away sharply. He was held behind after practise by Takeda.

"Are you okay?"

He asked and at first Kageyama was confused. He was fine. Itching 9 time out of 10 but fine nonetheless. Then it clicked . . .

"Because there are people you can talk to."

"I'm fine sensei, it's not what you think."

It sounded like an excuse - but he couldn't be bothered explaining and quickly ran off to class, having to apologise for being late. He knew what it had been an insinuation of. What Takeda thought the marks were from. It was a new thing to happen - and it freak Kageyama out. Is that what it looked like to other people?

Maybe he was still a freak.

 

* * *

 

It starts as needles spreading across his skin.

It's been 18 years and it's still there. Kageyama sits up in his bed and tries to ignore the persistent feeling running down his arm, the mental mantra of 'just scratch it' and 'it'll go away then'. He ignores those feelings and crosses into the small adjoined bathroom. A small tube of cream sits next to the sink - it should have been been in his bedside table drawer.

By now - he's used to. He's used to the stares and the questions. He gives people straight answers now and doesn't avoid it. It's nothing serious - just annoying as hell. But he can deal with it. He massages the cream in the skin - it's cold but soothing. It calms his burning skin and dulls the slight pain. It's been 18 years of chastising, of weird looks and muted words, of insinuations and question. So. Many. Questions.

It's a part of him and that won't change. It comes and goes. Rain still effects him as does the sun - but he can deal with both of them. He put the cap back on the cream and takes it to be stored away in the drawer for whenever he might need it again. It's something that might never go away - but it is something that can be dealt with.

**Author's Note:**

> you know where to find me; nnnekoyama.tumblr.com


End file.
